


Empty Cup

by ryukoishida



Series: Sunlight Frenzy. Endless Tales. [22]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: M/M, how do I write these ossans?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: He should have waited. He should have listened to Kubard and waited. Prompt: “For once… I was wrong.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ohhohohoho this is the ship I feel most insecure about – not because I don’t ship them but because I’m afraid my writing fails to convey what I want with them.

He should have waited. 

He should have listened to Kubard and waited. 

Due to his own imprudent stubbornness and his apparent refusal to listen to Kubard – who, as unreliable as he may seem, as boorish and unrefined as he may act, is still a capable general through and through – even when he knows, deep in his core, that the man with the scar across his left eye can see clearer than Shapur ever could.

The combined fatigue from physical battles and mental strains had made him senseless, made him sluggish and irrationally obstinate, but that was no excuse.

There was never an excuse when his men’s lives were at stake.

They are back in Ecbatana now, and have been received by King Andragoras with a warm welcome for the Parsian troops’ triumphant return. But the celebratory drink he forces himself to gulp down runs scalding and bitter on his tongue, and it takes every bit of self-restraint he has in himself to maintain a mildly pleasant expression to fool everyone present in the gathering. 

Shapur is not a man who shed tears easily, but with a few more drinks toiling in his body and his heart heavier than iron that threatens to suffocate him, he thinks he’s about ready to break.

“Lord Shapur, mind if I join you?” He only ever uses his title to tease him. 

An overly-friendly slap on his back, and then the man settles on the seat across from him, a drink in hand and a careless grin on his flushed face. When he sees Shapur’s pale complexion, however, his lips immediately turn into a concerned frown. “You look unwell. What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Shapur snaps, tone as icy and ruthless as the stormy clouds that reside on Mt. Damavand. He takes another sip of his wine, the colour resembling too much of rubies, of blood; he doesn’t want to admit he’s wrong – not in front of Kubard, of all people, especially not him – and so he occupies his mouth with drinking. 

Kubard lets him, doesn’t say anything, which is unusual for him because Shapur thinks the man just never stops running his mouth.

Much too soon, his cup is empty. 

“Would you like me to get you another one, or would it be better for me to simply lend you an ear?” Kubard’s voice is uncharacteristically soft – thunder in the distance – almost as if he’s afraid that Shapur would run away if he raises his voice any louder.

Shapur plays with the rim of his cup, head lowered and thumb tracing the same spot mindlessly, over and over again. 

It’s a few minutes before he’s able to speak, his eyes squeezing close. 

“For once…” he begins with a tremoring breath, “I was wrong. I made the wrong decision and many lives were taken because of my foolish pride. I should have listened to you, Kubard.”

When he looks up, Kubard is taken aback by the other man’s gleaming maroon irises and the whites of his eyes woven with thin red veins. 

“I’m not going to say anything insincere just to make you feel better,” Kubard says as he places both hands on the table, “because I know you’d hate that and you deserve more than empty consolation. But you have to understand that what’s done is done. Let yourself mourn for these men tonight, understand that you’ve made a mistake, as all humans do, forgive yourself, and then move on and make sure not to make the same mistake again.”

“I thought you’re only lending me your ear,” Shapur says drily, though his voice doesn’t hold much malice. 

“Oh, am I talking too much?” Kubard’s lips curve into a small grin.

“A little,” Shapur admits, but doesn’t chastise him any further. In fact, his heart feels a lot lighter at Kubard’s words – logical but unexpectedly kind, in his own way. 

“If you like, Lord Shapur, I can put my mouth to better use.” The flirtatious dip in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by Shapur, and he takes note of Kubard’s body leaning a degree closer across the table, their hands almost touching. 

“You’re crossing a line, Lord Kubard,” Shapur warns him, eyes flashing red. “I was just about to thank you for your surprisingly sound advice. Don’t make me regret it.”

“And how do you plan to thank me, pray tell?”

“I suppose you’ll have to find out tomorrow,” Shapur gets to his feet, steady despite the number of drinks he’s consumed tonight, “now you’ll have to excuse me. Have a good night.”

“I wish you a good night, too.” Kubard says to Shapur’s retreating back as he picks up his half-finished drink once more and drains it in one gulp.


End file.
